Blood & Burial
by DeltaCrow11
Summary: Carlisle Cullen haunted the nightmares of witches and vampires in London, England. A fated encounter and a week of unspeakable suffering would show Carlisle that the road to heaven always travels down the valleys of hell.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: This story is based on the character Carlisle Cullen of the Twilight saga, both created and copyrighted by Stephanie Meyer. I take NO ownership of ANY aspect of the Twilight saga featured in this or subsequent chapters._

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**Blood & Burial**

**Chapter 1**

**Pull The Trigger**

It was the single most excruciating pain I had experienced in my entire life.

Only seconds had passed between the moment I felt his teeth pierce into my neck and the moment I heard the gunshot scream into his chest. But within those seconds, I felt the venom scourge through my veins like boiling oil, racing its way to the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet. It was as though my entire body had collided with a fiery carriage, still smoldering from the flames of hell.

I shoved my limp assailant to the floor below me, and the second I heard his body connect with the ground my hands flew to the bite marks that he left on my neck. The site of penetration was ice cold, such a dramatic contradiction to the burning that I felt throughout my body. As my fingers retracted from my neck I could see the blood bathed all over them- my blood. I dropped to my knees as the unsettling truth made my stomach turn over on its side.

The vampire had bitten me.

And then the real pain began.

I knew enough about the vampires I had hunted to know how they were created- yes, created, not born. It was the bite that set the spell in motion within their victims, that could turn the hunter into the very thing they hunted, or the coward into the very thing they feared the most. It was this vampire's bite that would forever alter the course of my life, and I knew now that there was no return to normalcy for me.

Barnabas's footsteps were like a death march to my ears as I heard him approach the alley where my broken body was resting. I could cover the marks on my neck with the cloth I ripped from my attacker's sleeve, but he would undoubtedly see the blood all over my hands and the pain that I could barely hide behind my eyes. How could I hide this from my brother? We'd been hunting with our father since our teenage years, and at this point in our lives we could practically read the thoughts off of each other's minds. What thoughts would race through his mind as the deafening truth of my situation screamed out at him? How could he possibly look upon me, knowing full well what I will become?

Barnabas rounded the corner into the alley, the sound of his water-soaked boots echoing off the walls around us. I could hear what remained of our hunting party race past him as he stopped to catch his breath.

"The vampire clan is in retreat," he reported to me. "We're burning what remains of them now. One of our boys got ambushed. Almost couldn't recognize him with all the blood and…"

His voice began to trail off as I staggered to my feet. The evidence was all there, right in front of him- the blood pulsing from my neck, my soiled hands, the lifeless vampire body lying in front of both of us. I knew eventually it would have to sink in.

"Are there any bullets left in your gun?" I forced out of my coarse throat.

"Only two," Barnabas stammered.

"Load one…now," I said to my brother. I removed my hand from the bite it was concealing and forced my eyes to meet his. Barnabas stared somberly back at me, his hand barely hovering above the handle of his pistol.

Our father instilled a great deal of conventions he had followed in his days as a hunter, but in the case of vampires he had one rule that he stood by at all times- no one bearing a vampire bite came back with us. We instilled that in the parties that hunted with us, and on many occasions it was Barnabas and myself who would insure that such regulation was enforced.

On this day it was me bearing the bite of a vampire. We both knew what needed to be done.

I watched Barnabas grasp the gun from his side and pull the silver-lined bullets from his waist. I watched him instinctively load the bullets into the chamber, not once removing his solemn gaze from my eyes. When the chamber was locked, he tilted his gun and stared soberly at the barrel.

"You have to do it Barnabas," I said sternly.

"I can't Carlisle," his head shook from side to side in refusal.

"I can't live like this," I shot back. "I won't live like this."

"I can't," his hand shook as he began to lower his gun.

"Don't be blind Barnabas! Look at me!" I staggered forward and clasped the hand that was fixed to his gun and thrust the barrel into my chest. I could feel my heart pulse through my coat against the cold barrel of Barnabas's gun, my hands shaking as I struggled to keep his aim at my heart.

"I won't live this way Barnabas! I won't become one of them," I shot a glance at the corpse behind us. I couldn't even bring myself to call him a vampire. I couldn't get myself to even say the word out loud. I knew every passing second brought me closer to that hell, and I wanted nothing more than to be shot and buried right then and there than to live the rest of my life as a walking nightmare.

And all it would take was one shot. One bullet. One pull of the trigger, and the nightmare would stop before it ever even began.

Barnabas struggled as I forced the barrel of his gun below my chin. I could point his gun wherever I wanted, but it was him and him alone who would have to pull the trigger. And then the magnitude of what I was asking my brother to do had hit me. I wasn't asking him to slay a monster or put down one of our mortally wounded men. I was asking him to kill his brother.

And I knew he couldn't do it.

And more importantly, he wouldn't do it.

My hands released their grip on Barnabas's gun, and the gun fell to the ground as he did the same. At the same moment I felt my brother's arms wrap around my shoulders, and I wrapped mine around his. It was the final time I would embrace my brother. I knew I could never return home, not with what I would become.

As I staggered away from Barnabas I proceeded towards the lifeless body of the vampire that brought this curse upon me. I tore my coat off of me and draped it around his shoulders.

"Bring the body to be burned," I directed my brother. "Tell our father that I was attacked and bitten, and that my lifeless body had to be burned. Be sure the men bear witness." I turned towards the darkened end of the alley.

"Where will you go?" Barnabas asked me as he took the body into his arms. I had no answer for him. I had no idea where one goes when they're about to undergo the most painful transformation of their life.

I turned to face my brother. We had spent so much of our lives battling underworld demons and the inhuman creatures around us that it had become the central focus of our relationship. Outside of our hunts, we had little brotherly time. Our lives took place on the road, in the woods, between dark and damp street alleys and rotting cellars. It was fitting that our time together would end on the only plane we knew.

"Learn from my mistakes Barnabas. Our father was wrong. This path will only lead you to become a monster. A monster like me."

As my back turned away I could hear Barnabas call my name. I turned my head past my shoulders to meet his eyes for the last time.

"Carlisle," he said, forcing back his emotion. "Be safe."

I turned once more and walked into the shadows.

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	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: This story is based on the character Carlisle Cullen of the Twilight saga, both created and copyrighted by Stephanie Meyer. I take NO ownership of ANY aspect of the Twilight saga featured in this or subsequent chapters._

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**Blood & Burial**

**Chapter 2**

**Running Damned**

The end of the alley opened to the back end block of the city- it would be another 6 blocks to the right before I hit the outskirts. The cover of nightfall would only grant me temporary solace. I would find no refuge anywhere in this city. I had to make my escape, and I had to be swift- as I rounded the corner I felt my knees begin to give out. I scanned the street to ensure I was alone before pressing my back to the wall and sliding down to the ground.

I forced myself not to relish in the fleeting comfort of sitting. Any ounce of rest that I gained was lost with the growing pain that shot through my body with every beat of my racing heart. As I wiped the cold sweat from my brow I grew aware of the mixture of perspiration and blood dripping from my neck to the ground below me. I ripped the cuff of my left sleeve and pressed it against the wounds of my neck. I could not risk leaving a trail.

When the bleeding slowed and I felt that my legs could support my weight again, I slowly made my way back to my feet. I wasn't sure how far I could run before having to rest again and there was no time to make an estimation. I resolved to run as swiftly as possible until I felt my legs begin to give out again, and at that point I would stop myself for another brief rest. I started to sprint down the block, forcing myself to ignore any and all pain that my mind tried to warn me of. My thoughts could only dwell on escape if I were to have any chance of surviving this night.

Another block and four street lamps would pass before I felt the urge to stop. I barely got one hand on the building beside me before I collapsed to my knees- I might as well have landed on a pile of broken glass. My knees were never the same since my last hunt. Barnabas swore that I broke at least one of them when I fell from that balcony, and had our doctor had been with us he might have even confirmed it. It had only been several weeks before I could bear weight on them again in a significant and useful matter, but from then on I always felt the dull pain that subtly arose when I exerted myself for more than a few feet at a time.

That pain was nothing compared to what I was feeling that night. The burning was beginning to intensify around my joints, as though I was bearing the weight of scorching coals tied to my body. My body felt heavy, as though the vampire's bite deposited a pound of lead into my bloodstream. But unlike lead, I knew that what was in my blood was not just sitting idly in my veins- it was changing me, and destroying me in the process.

I forced myself to take my thoughts off of that disturbing truth and instead focused once more on my legs. All that really mattered at that moment in time was making sure that I could stand on them, that those two legs that God had constructed me with for this specific moment in time could bear the weight of my broken and tortured body for a few more blocks. The rest of my body- and my mind for that matter- had little significance.

I rose to my feet and picked up a stride that would carry me another two blocks without ceasing. Though I wanted to badly to stop myself, I resisted the urge to rest. The sooner I escaped the city, the sooner I could retreat to the woods.

And the sooner I could retreat, the sooner I could suffer in solitude.

As that thought crossed my mind I felt my knees suddenly give away. Without any warning my legs crumbled within a split second, and I soon felt my chest crash to the floor and my head bounce off the sullied road below me. My nostrils were inhaling the pungent stench of soil and horse hooves before I even realized what had happened. A primal cry of pain escaped my body- my first verbalization of pain since being bitten- and I heard my scream echo down the empty road that bore my suffering. My hands grasped the dirt that covered the ground that I laid on as I attempted to raise myself up, a futile effort given the rapid descent and impact my body had just taken.

Beside my broken body stood a tall black street light, the light atop of it flickering with every weak gust of wind that blew past it. I dragged myself to the base of the post and tossed my arm around it, using it as an anchor by which to pull the rest of my body inwards. The smooth, rounded street light gave my dirt-ridden hands little with which to grasp onto- the lamp was merely a crutch by which I attempted to stand myself up to. My knees quivered as my chest and face crushed themselves up to the post, and for several seconds that post was the only thing keeping me standing until my legs had gained their footing.

It wasn't until I was standing once again that I became aware of how terribly my vision was beginning to distort. I wiped my eyes with my hands in an attempt to rub the dirt away from them, for all the good wiping dirt with more dirt could do. Through the mud and grime before my eyes I could barely make out the lines of buildings and shops within the blur. I could barely recognize the street from my childhood- it was where my father and I had done a majority of our food shopping before his pastoral duties had picked up. The years had not been kind to business in this part of town, as the lack of surveillance by authorities had led to an increase in theft and violence. Add to that the stories and rumors of the inhumane nature of the nighttime "inhabitants"- such as the creatures responsible for bringing me back to this part of town- and there was little doubt as to why business owners had closed their doors and turned their backs on this forgotten strip of the city.

I stepped away from the street light that had been my crutch and stumbled messily towards the wall before me. I stared down the length of brick and broken windows to my right, resting my eyes on a set of rusted cellar doors interrupting the otherwise flattened landscape. I looked once more down to my feet and examined my quivering knees. Leaving the city was no longer an option for me- I was physically incapable of even crawling another block, let alone to the outskirts. I approached the cellar doors and removed the broken locks, then pulled the left door open and held it up with my arms to examine the flight of stairs below me. The pale moonlight above me and the dimly lit street lamps behind me barely illuminated the stairs that I set my foot on, and before my second foot could reach the stairs my head and shoulders tipped forward and brought my entire body crashing down the steps to the bottom of the cellar and crashing into a poorly sealed crate.

The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was the sound of the cellar doors above me slamming shut and the stench of rotting potatoes from the crate I decimated with my body. I felt my mind and body slip into darkness and reality fade way. My nightmare had just begun.

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	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: This story is based on the character Carlisle Cullen of the Twilight saga, both created and copyrighted by Stephanie Meyer. I take NO ownership of ANY aspect of the Twilight saga featured in this or subsequent chapters._

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**Blood & Burial**

**Chapter 3**

**The Beating**

I don't remember the exact moment I had awaken, nor could I tell how much time had gone by since I lost consciousness. All I can remember is that I woke up in agonizing and unfathomable pain.

I tossed my body uncontrollably in whatever direction it could find movement, my legs stretching out from me as though they were attempting to detach themselves from my hips. I slammed my fists down against the floor, as though I could punch the pain out of my body, but to no avail. Even the pain of the broken splinters and rusted nails that gouged my knuckles was unnoticeable against the agony that ran through my body.

The burning that soared through my veins on the streets above had returned with a fiery vengeance, as though the venom shooting through my body had only been warming up for what appeared to be its grand crescendo. Every breath that escaped my body contained a scream of anguish as my lungs felt like they were collapsing on a pile of hot coals. Every beat of my heart carried a surge that traveled all the way to the tips of my fingers, and by the time the pain reached those tips my heart was sending another pulse of punishment to join them.

The pain was now beginning to come in waves, and as I lied on my back after thrashing my body in countless directions I felt the pain slowly subside. The crescendo of my suffering was beginning to recede to a diminuendo. The pain was still there, but the fires had withdrawn and left a smoldering ember in its place.

I lied there in the center of the cellar afraid to make a move, afraid that any disturbance in my current position would shift my body closer to the fiery wrath that I thought I was just beginning to escape. I turned my head to the faint ray of light breaking through the cellar doors that I had stumbled through only hours before. Between the time of my fall and the moment I regained consciousness and tossed my body about the floor like a fish removed from its pond, the sun had begun to rise. I traced the light breaking into the cellar and examined the objects that it illuminated- rotted wood from a broken barrel, rusted nails from what appeared to be a box that I somehow knocked down in my painful tirade, countless molded potatoes still drenched in juice. My surroundings were a complete mess- I shuddered at the thought of what I must have looked like.

I turned onto my stomach and began a slow crawl towards the stairs. Once again my arms were doing the job that my legs were no longer strong enough to handle. I made it to the stairs and had covered about five steps towards the cellar doors before I turned about and sat myself up on the fifth step, using the wall beside me to prop my near-lifeless body in position. It was the first time I had gained a full view of the cellar- my private dungeon, my sanctuary of suffering.

Without even realizing it, the words of the Lord's Prayer began to drivel out of my mouth. I thought of my father in that moment, and it dawned on me that he was now being informed of my death. Perhaps he was reciting the same prayer now, through the tears and pain that he must be experiencing at the horrifying thought of being parted with his son. Tears began to leak from my eyes as I thought of Barnabas. I recalled the night that the men had informed my father of the death of Barnabas's father. Our fathers were close men, much closer than brothers. Losing him filled my father with such incredible grief and guilt that he saw it as his final duty and favor to adopt Barnabas into our family. Barnabas and I had already been close friends, keeping each other company on the nights that our fathers led the ill-conceived hunts for the greater evils of London. It was at that moment that I began to call Barnabas my brother, and never thought less of him from that day forward.

At the center of the staircase in that lowly cellar, I wept for my father and brother. It was the last time I would ever shed a tear of any kind.

I wrapped my arms around my body in a strangle hold of sorts as I felt the pain begin to surge once more throughout my being. My knees trembled as I tried to bring myself to my feet and lower myself to the cellar floor. Instead I collapsed and made a suicide dive from the middle of the steps onto the littered ground below me, the sound of my crackling shoulders not even registering with me through the resurgent pain I was experiencing. I suddenly found myself gasping for air and brought my fingertips to the base of my heart. There wasn't enough air in my lungs to form the gasp that I needed at that moment when I counted how fast my heart was beating. It was as though my heart was trying to rip itself from the blood vessels and veins surrounding it and was pounding itself against my chest, trying to break through my rib cage and skewer itself on the rusted nails scattered throughout the cellar.

I sprung my hand out from my body and grasped one of the potatoes lying near me, squeezing it until it gave away and splattered under the pressure of my grip. I flung my body around and reached for another potato, repeating my destructive grip. I grabbed another with my other hand and shot it across the cellar, repeating this countless times with whatever I could get my hands on. I grabbed another potato and pierced it with my teeth, releasing a painful scream into the lifeless, rotting produce. I spat the potato chunks out of my mouth and slammed my fists into the pile of rusted nails beside me. If any of those nails had even penetrated my skin, I would have no recollection of it- all I remember feeling at that moment was the unfathomable pain in my chest and the horrific beating of my heart.

I found no relief in any of my actions- the beating of my fists against the ground, the volleying of potatoes across the cellar, the primal raging screams I released until my throat could no longer make an audible sound. I had finally driven myself to the point where I was physically unable to move or speak, yet the pain was still there. And my heart was still racing. Only now I had no way to articulate the pain that I was feeling.

And so I remained motionless in the center of the cellar, covered in dirt, splinters, and pieces of rotted potatoes. I remained like this for endless hours, watching the sunlight dim from the cellar doors and be replaced by moonlight. The more intense the pain became, the faster my breathing became, until I came to the point where the pain had nowhere else to go but escape my lungs in the form of a scream. It was as though the rest of my body had finally given up and died. For some reason my mind and my rapidly beating heart had failed to receive the message.

And after three nights of motionless suffering and endless screaming, my heart finally stopped.

But I had not.

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